


Jamie’s Prayer (internal monologue)

by xtalmarie



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: A Breath of Snow and Ashes, Abduction, Canon, Diana Gabaldon, F/M, POV, Rape, Revenge, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22014037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtalmarie/pseuds/xtalmarie
Summary: An canonic internal monologue exploring Jamie’s guilt and shame at his inability to protect his beloved wife from the abuse suffered during her abduction and captivity with Hodgepile and his gang.
Relationships: Jamie Fraser & Claire Fraser
Comments: 13
Kudos: 56





	Jamie’s Prayer (internal monologue)

Lord, what does it mean to be a man?  
Once I thought I kent it well;  
If I could be a man of my word,  
A man of _worth_ ,  
Take my place as Laird of Lallybroch,  
Manage my men, my lands, and my family,  
As my father had before me...  
If I could love and protect my wife,  
Allow her to be the strong woman she is,  
To express her fierce spirit -  
In private -  
But to stand united beside me in company,  
Present herself wi’ grace,  
Teach her the way of a Laird's Lady;  
If I could help her to bear and raise our children together,  
And show them how to be in the world...  
Then, I would be a man.  
A good man.  
Just like my father. 

I should have realized, should have kent -  
Even my father, he Himself, could not protect his love.  
Safety is an illusion;  
Disillusionment learned - or is it earned? -  
At such great cost.  
Too great a cost.  
I can see him, caught in the grip of Fate,  
Helpless in the face of Nature, disease.  
Watching, paralyzed, as first Willie -  
Firstborn, first son, child of his heart -  
Then my mother, his very breath and soul,  
And their bairn unborn  
Succumbed to the oblivion of death. 

Impotent.

Perhaps I held some vain belief  
That I was somehow greater than most men,  
Maybe even greater than my father,  
Because I'd managed to keep Claire from harm...  
For a time.  
I was determined not to let her slip through my hands,  
As my mother had done, so long ago through his;  
No matter did I need to give my own life to do it.

Fate has punished my vanity, though,  
In ways I could not have imagined.  
First, with the deserters -  
I could not save her  
Until she had already saved herself,  
And created the opportunity for me to act.  
I rescued her from Fort William  
And the clutches of my nemesis,  
Thinking myself so verra brave -  
Such a braw protector.  
But that did not redeem me,  
In either my eyes, nor hers.  
Humbled and ashamed,  
I could not face myself;  
I had to take my manhood back by force -  
From her, the victim, and my love -  
To make myself a man again...  
In no one's eyes but my own. 

Later, in Cranesmuir, when I was too far away  
To protect her from the maddened crowd...  
I stole her away, but it was a near thing.  
I learned The Truth.  
And thinking back, I should have kent it then -  
If she could travel through stone,  
Through the very fabric of time,  
Greater plans were laid for her than I could imagine.  
Ban-druidh, White Lady, La Dame Blanche.  
Auld One.  
It's so clear to me now.

We lost Faith,  
And lost faith...  
Again, I could not protect her,  
Nor shield her from her grief;  
My own was too raw,  
And I was not there.  
The Bastille was a new kind of prison,  
Of despair and aching void,  
For I had not only lost part of myself,  
But part of her -  
The part of her I knew needed me,  
Yet blamed me.  
Both, burdened with the consuming agony  
Of the reality that we would never know our child.  
We found our faith in one another again, somehow,  
Worked through the loss and the grief -  
Together -  
In hope of finding that joy again in time.  
But I kent then, that if we did,  
I could not protect her.  
The bearing she would do alone,  
And I, again, helpless.

Impotent.

Still, I clung to my false hope -  
If I fought hard enough,  
Held her tight enough,  
Loved her deeply enough,  
I could keep her safe with me.

The battle loomed, and all was lost.  
Our lives together diverged,  
Like that road in the yellowed wood  
She'd described once to me in a poem...  
She could not travel both.  
I thought to protect her one last time,  
Knowing the precious gift she carried within,  
And sent her through the stones,  
Back to her time;  
Back to safety.  
Back to love.  
Back to Frank,  
Hoping that he'd love them well.  
Hoping that I'd loved them well.

And so my purgatory began -  
Twenty years wi'out her,  
Twenty years not knowing if I'd succeeded,  
If I'd kept her safe,  
Or sent her to her death,  
Along with our precious bairn.

At last, I kent what my father must have kent -  
That being a man was more about letting go  
Than trying in vain to hold it all together,  
With the illusion of control.  
It was about accepting your insignificance,  
But still doing the best you can with what you've been given.  
I'm not sure which hurt more during all those years apart -  
Living wi'out Claire,  
Or the loss of my illusion that I could keep her safe.  
My failure to keep her safe wi' me.  
The Truth, that I was no man.

Impotent. 

Together, the two were far too great to bear.  
I lost myself, for a time. 

When she returned to me -  
Och!  
When she returned,  
I came alive again!  
And I swore to myself,  
NEVER AGAIN.  
Never would I lose her,  
Never would I let harm come to her.  
Perhaps love builds this illusion,  
Perhaps it's just one of the many follies of man.  
But despite what I'd already learned,  
And the dear cost of the learning,  
I clung again to that belief.  
I fought for her at every turn,  
And I suppose my successes only reinforced my belief  
In my own control. 

Until today. 

My heart, taken from me,  
By men wi'out honor,  
Wi'out shame.  
My love, taken from our home,  
For naught more than greed and whisky.  
My soul, taken, with no thought for her beauty,  
Her intelligence,  
Her skill,  
Her perfection.

How can I look upon her face?  
Bruised and bloodied,  
Swollen and battered,  
Broken.  
The smell of their musk still hot on her skin,  
The fear of their touch still fresh in her mind.  
I've failed her once more.

Impotent.

Her vengeance lies upon the ground;  
All around,  
The bodies scattered,  
Staining the earth  
Like the drops of her blood  
And their seed  
Upon her dress.  
"Kill them all," her hollow eyes had screamed in silence.  
"Kill them all," I had commanded.  
And I had.  
We had. 

Yet how can I claim that I am a man,  
By virtue of mere vengeance?  
The truth of today is that I am powerless to protect her.  
Or our daughter.  
Or our grandchildren.  
What good is a man, Lord,  
If you give him the gift of these lives to protect,  
These skills to provide,  
And then another man can tear them away?  
If Fate can swing its fickle blade  
And sever them,  
Evermore,  
From sight, and sound, and sense?

When I last let go of this illusion,  
I had to let go of her, too.  
Maybe it was easier to live wi'out the reminder  
That I had failed her.  
With her gone, the two griefs were separate -  
Loss of her.  
Loss of myself, and what I thought was my purpose;  
What made me a man.

Today, I bear both losses,  
Together.

Impotent.

I cannot stop and ponder,  
Nor take a breath and grieve for them,  
For she is still here,  
Still with me.  
This time.  
God! I am so grateful!  
But how will I find the strength to bear it,  
And bear her pain as well?  
I cannae do what she did for me,  
But she needs me now, more than ever.

I once told her,  
I could bear pain myself,  
But hers - I couldna bear.  
I kent it to be true, then,  
But it was tested nonetheless.  
In seeing her grief and misery,  
Nearly losing me to my own darkness...  
After Wentworth...  
Only the thought of her suffering at the loss of me  
Kept me going long enough to start to heal.  
I couldna bear her pain then.

Faith... our precious daughter,  
Lost through both our actions,  
And bitter irony...  
She was alone.  
I was alone.  
I couldna bear her pain then.

This time, I am here.  
I must bear her pain.  
And my pain.  
And my shame.  
I must, for she cannot.  
And if I cannot, then I fail her.  
Yet again.

Lord, grant me the strength to bear it;  
For it is beyond what I can do, alone.  
Help me cradle the part of her  
That lies naked and exposed,  
Trying to hide under a blade of grass.  
Help me cherish her soul as she once did mine,  
Leading the way back to one another,  
In the shelter of our embrace.

Amen.


End file.
